Page 11 of Claimed By the Guardian

Despite appearances, he hadn’t done a lot of fighting as a bear. The military had trained him in human combat and medicine. But that was enough. He took the nearest hybrid first, slamming his massive bulk into it so fast the thing was barely able to snarl through the wolf mouth before it was thrown back out the window. The other hybrid was harder. At least the first had a full wolf face without any humanity in it. The other looked fully human—a man in his thirties—except for the body fur, sharp claws for hands, and curved bearlike ears, plus a hint of a muzzle. Hell, this guy was a bear hybrid, but his hands and mouth were already covered with blood. He’d been feasting on something and it hadn’t been kibble.

Worse, he was going for Cecilia, and fuck, he was fast.

Hank saw Cecilia coil tightly, her hands gripping the bannister as her knees tucked into her chest. She was going to kick that thing, but she didn’t realize what his claws would do to her legs. Or her face. And Hank was across the room, too far away to save her.

He leapt as fast as he could, but he knew he wasn’t going to make it. Fortunately, it was all he needed. The hybrid was distracted by the sudden approach of a big black bear. He twisted his head and extended his claws. But he had already been moving toward Cecilia, which meant he was close enough for her to strike. She kicked him with both feet straight in the face.

Great shot!

The thing’s head snapped back, though it would take more than that single blow to keep him away. But now Hank was in position to help. First things first, he swiped at the zip ties that bound her, neatly slicing them in half.

She was free. Hopefully, she’d stay around to help, but at the moment, he wouldn’t fault her for hightailing it out of here. Sadly, the precision required to free her had slowed him down. He hadn’t wanted to accidentally slit her wrists, so he’d had to concentrate. Which gave the bear hybrid an opening.

He attacked with all the strength in his amped-up claws. Hank felt the bite of those razor-sharp things in his upper arm. The thick bear fur wasn’t enough to keep them from digging in and slicing. But it also brought the hybrid in close enough for Hank’s mouth.

He swung his head around and bit down on the first thing he caught. His teeth scraped against skull and tore through…he didn’t want to know what. Tainted copper blood poured into his mouth again, but he didn’t stop. He had to end this because the first hybrid was coming back in the window. As well as another werewolf.

Shit.

The hybrid went limp in his mouth. Dead.

He threw him away, sadly unable to slam him into the oncoming hybrid. The damned thing was too heavy, and he was trying to keep track of all the details. Specifics like where Cecilia was going as she slid behind him. And how badly was Mother hurt? She hadn’t moved when normally the woman would be racking her shotgun.

But he didn’t have time to look further as he squared off with the wolf hybrid. The other werewolf was heading straight for Mother, but he’d have to go through Sammy first. The girl had just dived across the couch to grab the shotgun. Good for her.

Hank engaged the wolf hybrid. A teeth-and-claw fight, but Hank had the size advantage. In close quarters like this, all Hank had to do was pin the thing against the bannister with his bulk. Not a problem assuming the thing didn’t slither away or get lucky and catch a vital organ with its claws.

It didn’t, though Hank felt the pinch of a few good hits. And then the thing was flattened against the bannister. Enough for Hank to?—

A human arm slid through baring his army knife. Cecilia flicked her wrist across the thing’s throat, neatly slicing the carotid. Blood flowed freely, and she hopped back with a squeak. Good lord, the woman could slice open a monster’s neck but she squeaked at the blood?

Didn’t matter. Hank was both too grateful and too busy to fully appreciate her foibles. He spun around, this time heading for the wolf. What he saw made his blood run cold.

Mother, still down on the floor. Sammy with the shotgun racked and aimed, her skinny body trembling with the effort it took to face down a werewolf crouching two feet away, teeth showing in a growl and eyes narrowed in fury. He was about to leap and who knew if Sammy could get the shot off in time.

Hank roared. It was the only thing he could do to disrupt the coming disaster. He put his full voice into it as he sprang forward. Except his hurt arm wasn’t as powerful as it should be, so his push was uneven. And there was a damned coffee table in the way fouling his footing.

The werewolf adjusted, his eyes and his mouth glaring at them both. But he didn’t move to attack and for a moment Hank wondered why.

Then he saw.

Three more werewolves came through the window. And a fourth behind that. All creeping in stealthily, one silent paw at a time. Until Cecilia blew out a slow breath and spoke.

“Werewolves in Detroit. We expecting sparkly vampires next?”

He would have snorted if the situation weren’t so dangerous. But then something bizarre happened. One of the wolves at the window—the late arrival if he had to guess—snorted as if he were acknowledging the joke. And when he crawled over the windowsill, the others parted to let him pass.

The alpha? An elder? It looked older than the others from the gray on the muzzle, but it was hard to tell, and Hank wasn’t familiar enough with the werewolf packs to know one from the other. Whomever it was approached Hank with narrowed eyes. The wolves to either side of Gray Muzzle sneered, curling their lips back to show their teeth. One gave a low growl of warning while the other looked like he wanted to raise a leg and piss on Hank.

Let him try. With one swipe, Hank could disembowel him. Or at a minimum make sure the bastard never had children.

But then Gray Muzzle snapped at the other two, silencing them with a single clamp of its jaws. Okay. Clearly, Gray Muzzle was in charge of the wolves here. So what exactly?—

“Yeah, you best shut up,” Mother said, her voice weak, but growing stronger as she pushed herself upright. She was bleeding heavily from the shoulder, but her eyes blazed with fury. “Look what you done to my living room. Just look!” She grimaced as she struggled to stand, but apparently got too dizzy. She wobbled on her feet and dropped down onto her couch.

Hank surged forward to help her, but a growl—in unison—from all the wolves stopped his motion. He could do some real damage to those wolves, but it wouldn’t be pretty. And if they worked together, they could hamstring him in seconds and then take him out at their leisure. So he waited and prayed that Gray Muzzle was lucid. And restrained.

Meanwhile, Sammy started to help Mother, but the older woman waved everyone back. “You stay right there, girl. Keep a firm grip on that shotgun just like I taught you.” Then she turned her dark gaze on the wolves.